Chapter 27

“Ewan Parish.” I offered him my hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Pegram said, his handshake hearty, as if his words were true.

“I’m looking for a woman called Celia Mobley. Do you know of her?”

Pegram looked at my hand an extra-long time before he released it. His smile had fleeted and also, apparently, his voice.

“If not, perhaps you have a phone I could use, Mr. Pegram.”

“Horatio. For?” he asked.

“I know some people in New York who may be able to find out something about her son.”

“That news would be welcomed, if you’re being truthful.”

“Then you know her?”

“How do you, Mr. Parish?”

“It is a rather convoluted route to our acquaintance, through the son of the family for which she once worked,” I explained.

“You are not a policeman.” It was stated, not asked.

“What makes you so sure?” I inquired.

“You would have said so at once. You have money?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “A lot.” I took my wallet from my trousers and handed it over. “Take what you wish.”